moment, shrugged, and followed.
Dude Miller was not standing at his shop window when the McCall brothers rode into town. He was lying in his bed, where he had been confined by the doctor following the beating he’d received several days before. He had several cracked ribs, and one eye had only recently reappeared from behind a huge swelling.
Serena entered her father’s bedroom with lunch on a tray.
“Papa?”
Miller stirred and opened his eyes.
“Serena…” He frowned at her and asked, “Is that breakfast?”
“No,” she said, smiling, “lunch.”
“Is it that late?” he demanded. “Why did you let me sleep so late, girl?”
“Because you need your rest.” She set the tray down on the night table next to the bed. “Let me help you sit up.”
“I can sit up!”
She stood back and watched as he struggled to do so, without success.
“Well, don’t just stand there, girl,” he said, impatiently, “help me sit up.”
She assisted him into a seated position, propped a couple of pillows behind him, and set the tray of food on his lap.
“Are they here?” Miller asked.
“I don’t know,” she said. “I haven’t been spending half my time at the window watching for them.”
“Have you changed your mind?”
“No,” she said. “I’m sure they’ll come, but I’m not prepared to sit around and wait for them. They’ll come. Now eat your lunch. I made you some soup.”
“How about something solid?”
“For dinner,” she said. “Oh, and the doctor will be by later. I’ll check back in about twenty minutes, and all that soup better be gone.”
“Yes ma’am,” he said, wryly.
The McCall brothers rode to the livery and dismounted.
“In the old days this place was run by old Charlie Runyon,” Evan said.
“It was Charlie who caught you when you fell from the hayloft,” Sam said.
“You fell from the hayloft?”
“I didn’t fall,” Evan said.
“I never pushed you,” Sam said.
“I never said you pushed me from the loft deliberately,” Evan said, “but we were horsing around, and you did push me. If it wasn’t for old Charlie catching me, I would have broken a leg for sure.”
“Maybe you should have landed on your head.”
“Ha, ha.”
“When I left, the place was owned by Swede Hanson,” Jubal said. “It’s only five years, maybe he’s still here.”
As if on cue a tall, well-muscled blond man came out of the livery.
“Swede?” Jubal called.
The man stopped and narrowed his eyes, peering at the three men in front of him.
“Is dat you, Jubal McCall?”
“It’s me, Swede.”
Jubal moved closer and Swede Hanson said, “You’ve grown, boy.
“It’s good to see you, Swede.”
“What brings you—ah, I see,” Swede Hanson said, suddenly. “You have my sympathy for the death of your parents.”
“Thank you. Oh, Swede, I don’t think you ever met my brothers, Evan and Sam McCall.”
“Evan,” Swede said as Evan stepped forward to shake hands. “And Sam McCall? I know you by reputation, of course.”
“Of course,” Sam said, shaking the big man’s hand. Swede was about two inches taller than McCall’s six-four, and probably outweighed him by twenty pounds, most of it shoulders and upper arms.
“You all have my sympathy.”
“Thank you,” Sam said. “Will you put our horses up for a few hours?”
“
“We want to talk to the sheriff here about our parents,” Evan said, “and then we’ll probably be riding out to their—our—ranch.”
“Well, your horses will be here,” Swede said. “That’s a coyote dun, isn’t it?”
“It is,” Sam said.
“And a claybank?”
“Yes,” Evan said.
“I’ll take good care of them, you can be sure,” Swede said, and then to Jubal he added, “Of course, that includes your sorrel.”
“Of course.”
“Who’s the sheriff here, Swede?” Sam asked.
“Fella named Tom Kelly.”
“Has he been sheriff long?”
“No, maybe three months.”
“What happened to Mel Champlin?” Jubal asked.
“Mel?” Sam said, surprised. “Was he still sheriff when you left?”
“Yes.”
“Jesus,” Evan said, “he was the law when I left.”
“And when I did,” Sam said.
“That was part of the problem,” Swede said, “the Town Council felt they needed a younger man.”
“What can you tell us about this Sheriff Kelly?” Jubal asked.
“Not much,” Swede said, “except that he has not impressed me yet.”
“Well,” Sam said, “I guess we’ll form our own opinions. We’ll be back in a few hours, Swede.”
“The horses will be ready,” Swede said, “
“Thanks,” Jubal said, patting the big Swede on the shoulder.
The McCalls removed their rifles, war bags, and sugans—and, in Evan’s case, a carpetbag—from their saddles and allowed the Swede to lead their animals inside.
“Let’s go,” Sam said, and they started toward the sheriff’s office, assuming correctly that it would be in the same place.
As they entered the sheriff’s office they found it empty. There was a coffeepot on a pot-bellied stove and Sam went over to feel it.
“Still hot.” He opened it and sniffed it. “It’s fresh, and more than half full.”
“Good,” Evan said, “we might as well help ourselves while we wait.”
Evan McCall had more patience than his brother Sam. By nature they had different attitudes toward things like waiting.
“Come on,” Evan said, handing Sam a cup of coffee in a tin cup, “there’s nothing else we can do until we talk to the law.”
Evan looked around, found two more tin cups—swamped one out with his fingers—and then poured two more cups and handed one to Jubal.
They laid their belongings down on a chair and settled in to wait. Only fifteen minutes or so had gone by’the wink of an eye for Evan, a lifetime for Sam—before the door opened and a man entered. He was tall and dark- haired, in his thirties, with a sheriff’s star on his chest. He stopped short when he saw that his office was full.
“What do you people want?”
“Sheriff Kelly?” Evan asked.
